In My Sick Reflection
by wolfspirit34
Summary: Distinguishing who you are takes time. Losing your sanity only takes a few brief seconds. Snapped!Canada.


_I'd like to take this moment to say thank you _so _much for taking time to read this! This is going to be my second multi-chaptered fanfiction, and hopefully I will manage to complete this in time. If you don't know already, this is a Higurashi/Hetalia crossover, with Canada playing the role of Sonozaki Shion. However, it's more of a yanguire snap than a yandere one. The fic rating is a definite M rating for character death, violence, gore, descriptive sadism, language, homosexuality, and a lot of drama. There's not really any pairings confirmed yet, though there may be some CanaKuma or PruCan if you squint. This does contain a few spoilers, however, for a couple of the arcs. I'm not very sure. Now, without further ado, let's begin._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia, Higurashi When They Cry, and the song(s) used do not belong to me. They belong to their respected owners._

.~.

_Prologue_

.~.

It wasn't a calm silence that swept over the empty hall; it was a cold, bitter one. It was one that was shrieking in the small, white-furred bear's ears, "_You don't belong here! Get out, __**get out!**__"_ It was one that seemed to twist the almost invisible sound of breathing, making it whisper and intrude on the muteness.

Yet he continued to walk in that very same muteness, paws making no interruptive type of noise against the floorboards. There was an occasional creak of them, a groan of a cabinet hinges from a breath of wind-or was it? Was someone else in this place?-or a jerk of the ceiling from its age. The bear jumped at these noises, as it frightening him because he was alone, so _alone_ here… he took in a deep breath, the noise making him flinch a little. _No time to be a coward_, he decided to himself.

The evening light was a rusty colour through grimy windows. The light wasn't too much to go by as the sun sunk away, but it gave the hallway the amount of radiance desired for searching-and-finding, exactly what the little bear was doing. He knew it was in a room, a certain room, but his mind showed up jumbled like dice when he tried and put himself together.

He bounded ahead a couple meters, the floor complained about the abrupt motion. A scent was dancing under the bear's nose, a bitterly-sweet stench that invaded his nostrils. Something went off in the back of his head, but curiousity pushed him forward to the source of the awful reek. He swung his head, catching it in different areas. _Where is it coming from?_

_Ah._ There it was, coming from the room just parallel from him. Quaint to say the least, the bear remarked to himself as he padded to the door, opened only a couple centimeters.

He managed to wrench it open, but the floor dipped down onto a deeper level. He tumbled from his perch in front and rolled several meters away before hitting up against something hard.

"O-Ow…" The bear whimpered, head ringing and looked up at the object he had fallen into.

What stood before him was a table of some sort, and judging by the amount of dust covering the wood it hadn't been used in a while. The bear pulled himself onto it, his claws making small marks on it. This didn't seem to matter compared to the damage already covering this newfound thing from long ago.

It wasn't _shaped_ like a table. The bear could see it might've been something of a star or perhaps a tree, but no, it was more shaped like a _person_. He could see slabs of wood put together resembling pieces like the head and arms. It was somewhat in a snow-angel position, but there were steel bands strapped to the ends of certain pieces, rusting eating at the ends of some, totally devouring the wholes of others.

Deep gashes ran into the woody material, old cuts crisscrossing over more recent ones (though the little bear couldn't think of this date being anytime _he_ was alive, no siree) and dirt incrusting the particularly deep ones. He turned his head to the side in a rush of pure disbelief, and then it faded to back to inquisitiveness. He looked around himself and saw other strange objects on the room, some just off to the wall, others on their side from lack of proper care.

He couldn't really tell what kind of stuff there was, but it wasn't like he could actually _see_ anything anymore; the sun had faded away and now darkness was penetrating the light at a snail's pace. The only thing he could decipher from the room was it was full of things that had metal substances attacked to wood, but he could not say much else.

The bear leaped off of the outlandish looking table with a small _creeeaak_ of the floorings, heading towards something else that had caught his eyes. There was something moving on the floor near the wall, the faint light catching on it that it shined every so often with movement.

The bear went into a clumsy crouch, sneaking each paw forward to get a better look. The floor, he realised when he looked down, had its own little scrapes and gashes in it, scuffs and clear spots in the dust in sizes that didn't match his own paw size. They were imprints in the floor, slightly damp and the scent that clung stubbornly to them was strange, like wet grass mixed with asphalt. They looked like footprints.

Was someone else here?

He sat himself down, and bit by bit, his head following the small trail that was only revealed at a small angle, but he lost it as the luminosity died to an even smaller level than it had been. The bear swore under his breath, looking back up in dismay.

He caught a flicker of something hobbling in the corner of his eye, and he turned to find the source, his eyes landing on a spot against the practically-ancient wall. The movement in the shadows was being caused by a bug of some sort, as the bear couldn't tell what. It had large wings tucked over its prodding back, and was a dark colour, a russet one fused with shades of black and tan.

It hopped onto the window pane, the bear's gaze not darting or moving away from it. The creature curled up, pressing its solid legs together, and a screeching sound exploded into the dusty, now-night air. The polar bear covered his ears, lurching backwards at the impulsive sound of the uneven, coarse cries of the bug. It must be a cicada, he decided as he backed to the door, and a rather _noisy_ one at that.

Stumbling backwards to the door, it suddenly swung shut and there was a click. _A locking sound?_ There was no lock in the door; the little bear was even more confused. He stood up on his hind legs and grasped the knob between furry paws, shaking it and twisting it but no avail. It was secured, and it couldn't have been by the wind; the windows were definitely closed-the bear checked this with a quick veer of his head-and there had been no wind when he had been outside.

So there _was_ someone else in here.

The puzzlement in his head snapped into anxiety, and he began to hit the door as hard as he could, "Help! Somebody, open this up!" he yelled, "Hello?"

Zilch. Absolute _zilch_. There were no footsteps coming up the hall to aid his position, so the bear tried to pry the door open himself, clawing desperately at the hinges and the bottom of the door. He began to bite and thrash with his heart speeding up, but only dents were forming, no escape.

He took in another deep breath, although the cicada's corrupted wails blocked out any other sound. He covered his small ears, the sound only snowballing his unease and making him feel more and more afraid. He scrambled to the window, growling to the little insect, "Can you be quiet?!" he growled to it. It wasn't as if they cicada understood what he was saying.

It paid no mind to him either, continuing to make its apprehension-inducing song. Grinding his fanged teeth together in frustration, the bear bunched his muscles and leapt at the glazing, batting the glass and missing the bug by a mere centimeter, "Shut _up_!" he snarled.

He swung his paw at it again, although it made impact with its fragile body with a rewarding _crrcckk_ sound. Releasing a small breath of relief, the bear lifted his paw and heaved himself onto the ledge. His paw was covered with the remains of the cicada. Disgusted, he wiped it against the ledge, but it wasn't coming off.

He glanced at his paw again, but instead of the tacky remains of the bug, there was a huge glop of red liquid dripping maliciously from his paw, a different stench wavering from it; the same smell from the hall. With a yell of surprise, he fell off of the window ledge, landing heavily on his side. Groaning along with the wood, he steadily got back on all four feet, a small puddle immediately forming from his paw, tarnishing the skin a dark, dark scarlet. He knew what it was now…it was _blood_.

_What is going on here?!_

He shrieked again, flailing his now-red mitt in the air, spraying the blood in every which way. Blood was dripping from the ledge where the cicada had been now, like a small waterfall, and then it was now falling from every corner of the room. It snaked towards the trembling bear, turning the floor crimson and creeping up the legs and compartments of every contraption. They were turning a dark cerise, ruining the wood and making its way to him.

He backed away again, feeling a wall press against his fur behind him. His heart was hammering in his chest, like a metronome keeping count of the blood that seemed to move in such a tribal and mystical way. Something dripped onto his head, a glutinous substance, and he looked up and saw more scarlet trickling from the ceiling, saturating it and causing it to bleed through.

That was all the bear needed to get going. He sprinted across the blood, leaving ripples and warped areas in the liquid and the nightfall seemed to close in on the whole room, like a cloak of blackened death. He practically pounced at the door, leaving a loud _bang_ to go off in the enclosed area. He slammed himself against his only exit, ignoring the blood welling from it too and overlooking it staining his white fur red. He clawed at the door again, leaving deeper marks in it and yelping loudly, "Open up! Help me! _Open up!_"

He smacked and beat against the morphing wood, sinking his teeth into the edge of it and ripping away pieces. He got a splinter in his lip, but he blocked the pain out and continued to tear more away, all the time blood engulfing the room more and more every minute. His claws continued to damage the exit and his teeth began to dig more and more into it. His panic was starting to cloud his head and he fought harder to keep himself under control.

The blood was making it hard to breath, the salty odor filling his nostrils and causing him to gag. The bear's breathing was becoming unbalanced, so he sat himself down from exhaustion. He was met with adhesive, warm fluid sticking to his fur and staining it. The blood had completely sprung all over the room.

He cried out again, tearing at the door and clawing more at it. His heart was threatening to leap away and bounce out of the door. Crying aloud, the little bear thrashed and clawed and bit and tore and-

_-was waking up?_

Someone was shaking him and calling out, "Kumajirou, wake up! _Wake up_!"

The little bear's eyes flashed open, bright moonlight intruding on his half-asleep vision. Cringing at this, he took in a few quick breaths in succession before opening his eyes again. They focused unsteadily on a face looking worriedly at him, a somewhat familiar, kind face. Bright violet-shaded eyes looked anxious, and the person asked, "Are you okay?"

Out of habit, the little white bear asked cautiously, "Wh-who're you again?"

And then, as usual, came the typical reply, "…I'm Matthew."

It re-sparked in the back of Kumajirou's memory. Matthew, of course, his owner and friend. He forgot again. He sighed and he buried his face into his master's chest, "Matthew, it was really scary…" he whimpered. "Sorry I woke you up…"

"It's okay." Matthew reassured, holding him close to his body. "You were just going through a nightmare again. Was it about the same thing?"

"…Yeah," the polar bear mumbled, "it was about the same."

There was no talking after this, just Matthew stroking his bear's silky fur, lost in thought. The midnight ray was the only light for that time, covering everything in a soft, bluish glow. Kumajirou's heart was beginning to slow back down again, the safety making him feel better. He closed his eyes, the blood suddenly flashing behind his eyes. He shuddered. "Matthew, do dreams…mean things sometimes?"

There was some slight movement of him shrugging, "Sometimes. It matters what you think. Why? Do you think your dreams are meaning something?" Matthew muttered quietly, making it impossible to tell if he was nodding off or not.

Kumajirou said nothing, thinking hard, "Yes. I think it means something bad is going to happen. Or you're not supposed to squish cicadas."

"Mm." Matthew set Kumajirou back down-he had been sleeping on his bed like always- and looked at him in his level, "I…think it would be best if we talked this all over in the morning. Sorry, I'm just tired, Kumada."

"Kumajirou." The little bear corrected, "Are you feeling okay, Mattie?"

"Yeah," Matthew muttered, rubbing his forehead. Kumajirou bit his lip, before curling up in a tight, furry ball. The mattress _wuff'd_ as his master collapsed onto it. "Well, night."

There was no sound afterwards, just more breathing of him gradually lulling himself to sleep. Kumajirou heaved a small sigh, his mind still running amok. The panic of the dream remained fresh in his chest, almost as if it had been real. The smells, the sensations, it was all so authentic in his mind. He thought back on the dreams of the night before, trying to make sense of everything.

He had a similar one before, similar to the four other ones he had had in nights jiggling together, adding up to roughly a month. They all basically had the same kind of "plot"- walking around in a strange hall, searching for an item, and later getting choked in blood- but each time, something was slightly different. Once it was that it had been raining, and the room had been different. Another time it had been evening like this one, but for some odd reason, he had found a small knife in the floor that began the bloodbath.

But the item he had not found in this night's dream; a peculiar happening. Usually, he'd be able to find it (whatever it was, as Kumajirou had completely forgotten as of now) just before the room began to react weirdly, but this time he hadn't found it. Either he went in the wrong room, or this dream had been purposely different than the last.

Maybe it meant that whatever bad was happening was going to happen very soon, Kumajirou wondered to himself, and maybe that meant he'd have to be very careful from now on.

His mind was whirling with this single thought. Would this grave situation happen upon the conference tomorrow? Would it happen in two days' time? Three? Four? Perchance it be a week, the little bear had no clue on where to start.

He rolled over on his side, trying to root out any meaning in time. He knew that the blood splurge in the dream kept coming in an earlier time in the dream, each time lasting for much longer than it had in the previous one. This could mean that the calamity could be coming closer each time the dream happened. Blood meant bad, blood meant injury or death of the sort. Could that mean that he was going to die?

Kumajirou told himself not to be ridiculous. He was much too young to die; if anything, it would mean more than one death, or something of some kind. He wasn't sure about much of this, but he needed to learn what was behind these strange trances. If Matthew was right about dreams having their own significance, something was up in the world and was about to come falling down.

He closed his eyes, tiredness wrapping around his body like a fuzzy blanket of the night. He'd think this over in the morning when he could actually reason and reflect over it all properly. Breathing in the cold night air, Kumajirou started to feel a little securer, less frightened over his visions. Crickets chirped almost soundlessly outside to his ears, and he allowed another big pitch of breath. He wasn't going to be dying anytime soon.

Just before sleep hit him, his memory triggered something from the back of his mind. The object, the precious item he had been searching for in his dreams. He could envision it now, as slumber sank into his beforehand-terror-filled mind, almost as clearly as he had been able to grab it and whisk out of the room like in his aforementioned nightmares.

A syringe. _That's what it had been_, the bear mused wearily, _a syringe_.

.~.

_Word Count- 2826 words._

_This was the most anti-climactic prologue in the history of fucking prologues._. Kumajirou isn't in character as much as I thought he'd be, but it's because he's been going through these so much he's begun to think about these. Kumajirou isn't really a stupid character, anyway, as he just forgets who his owners is. And speaking of that, yes, human names are going to be used instead of nation names, but this isn't a human AU. There are a couple shout-outs to Higurashi that do allow and double-meaning for the story, but I'll let you guys guess that meaning. And the room Kumajirou was in was the Sonozaki torture chamber. _

_Thank you so much for reading. Reviews are appreciated, the next chapter should be up soon!_

_~Wolfie (July 2, 2013)_


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